


no plan

by howlish



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18406466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlish/pseuds/howlish
Summary: Play Hozier's "No Plan" on repeat to simulate the entire writing experience.





	no plan

He kept watching Kyouya’s hands. They weren’t doing anything particularly interesting, but they were beautiful, full of potential. He’d always been fascinated with what Kyouya could _do_ , what unstoppable tragedies he could create, how softly he could hold a frightened creature if he cared for it. In anyone else, they would have felt like contradictions, but not to him. He was not a bundle of warring oddities, he was a perfectly-formed monster-- if that could be a compliment. It should be. It was.

Hayato was not subtle. When he was not leaned back staring at the ceiling, his hazy eyes trained unerringly on the object of his fascination, the alcohol in his bloodstream no barrier. He was transfixed, and tonight, right now, he couldn’t seem to think of anything that existed outside of this swanky basement, this low, jazzy music, the two of them.

It was warm. Hayato was warm. Was Kyouya? Were his hands heated too, like a fever but the only sickness was too much wine-- no, he hadn’t had hardly any. Probably his hands weren’t that warm. He was an active type, too, no chance his hands were naturally cold, his circulation was fine. Was it normal to ponder this much? To think so deeply about such minutiae of another person? What did it matter, when they were the only two in the world, when life began and ended at that door?

The song that came on the playlist was one Hayato knew well, and he started to mumble-hum it without thinking, barely realized he was doing it until Kyouya gave a small smirk-- his face would have gone a little red, if he weren’t already drunk, but he laughed all the same. “Enjoying the show?”

“I never knew you to be so quiet.”

“Not every song’s meant to be _belted out_ , y’know?”

“Sure.” A simple answer, an almost-positive tone, that somehow teased Hayato’s mumbling just as well as if it had been said plainly. Fuck if it wasn’t beautiful though.

Hayato leaned back again, clumsily reached without looking to find his cigarette pack, tap one out and lift it to his lips to light. It was a feat at that angle but he managed just fine, paying no mind to the fact that they were in a closed environment, that it was rude, whatever. Kyouya expected (deserved) a hundred allowances, catering to his whims left and right, these rules had to be followed, the max capacity of any room was three at best, and so on-- Hayato’s allowance was this.

He didn’t look down, but he could feel Kyouya staring at him. Disapproval, maybe, but no way to know without looking. He didn’t, so he wouldn’t. “I’ll put it out in a minute. If I go too long without a cigarette I’m worried the collective decade and a half of withdrawal might kill me.” No response. Quiet. A minute or two later, cigarette half-smoked, and he couldn’t help but lift his head again, eyes moving to fix again on Kyouya, to see what he was doing.

Hayato’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, his heart somewhere with it, when their eyes met.

How long had he been watching? The whole time..?

They stayed like that for a few beats, Kyouya watching, Hayato forgetting to breathe even with half a lungful of smoke, and he had to wonder if this was how he’d been staring at Kyouya all night. Those dark eyes were unreadable; vague interest? Annoyance? Or maybe it was hunger. Hayato certainly felt enough like he was about to get eaten alive, and he didn’t much mind it. Hell, color him flattered. Or maybe just stupid, delusional in the wake of wine and a narrowed worldview.

“What about this song?” Kyouya’s voice could have come from the aether for how unexpected it was, “Is this meant to be _belted out_?” Hayato’s eyes were drawn this time to his lips, the soft curve of amusement as they mimiced his earlier phrasing. Kyouya was pulling at him, tugging at something without ever making contact, and Hayato had no mind to resist. He paused, listened a moment.

He knew this one, too. Slow, smooth energy, the kind that pulled, too. “Nah, not this one.” Whether it was Kyouya’s voice or the song, Hayato rose from his seat, cigarette still in one hand, but even as he approached where Kyouya sat the other man had stood as well-- why? A challenge? Fuck it, he was here, he was drunk, he was being pulled by everything in this small little world. “It’s more for dancing.”

His free hand met Kyouya’s, whose fingers curled like he’d been expecting it all night. _Cocky bastard_ , Hayato laughed quietly, but he was already pulling his unexpected dancing partner through a few moves, structureless, one-handed, driven purely by sound. Slow, minimal contact, _playing it safe_ even now, even in all this. He’d worked so hard to understand the Cloud, had settled in many ways on simply accepting that sometimes all he could do was wait to be told point-blank when he fucked up, learn, readjust. Kyouya was a beautiful enigma, and, foolishly, Hayato ever worried about _scaring him off_. Even now, one hand gracefully clasped around his own, Hayato’s eyes drawn to hand lips eyes-- he kept his distance. As if it was his job to pull his touch away from the fleeting Cloud no matter how low it rested.

Kyouya was getting impatient, for what, for what, but before Hayato’s addled mind could overanalyze every movement he was incensed by the loss of the near-forgotten cigarette in his off hand, plucked by Kyouya and flicked away carelessly. “Gonna burn the carpet,” Hayato said without thinking.

“It's not my carpet.” Fuck, but he was beautiful. Could Hayato keep him forever, if he was careful? If he kept his distance, if he never quite touched--?

But his newly-freed hand had already found Kyouya’s hip, tentative fingers at the curve of bone like it was going to bite him even as the rest of him moved forward, closed some distance between them. There was a more natural dance to this music, close and personal, the smooth flow of two people in easy harmony, hips swaying, the occasional twirl, as they hit a stride Kyouya allowed himself to be lead in a way that let Hayato know without a doubt that he’d been played. It was absolutely fucking lovely, and he got some small revenge besides, in the little jolt of surprise when he lifted Kyouya by the waist in a quick spin, cute, beautiful, what the _fuck_.

They danced through the next several songs, never much structure but Hayato’s attention never strayed either. The night could have lasted an eternity and he wouldn’t have complained.

They may as well have been embracing, Hayato’s arm wrapped around Kyouya’s waist, a slow, soft song, almost disgustingly romantic, so close together that he could look over Kyouya’s shoulder instead of looking him in the eye. “If I wake up tomorrow and this was all some fucked up dream… it’ll still be one of the best nights of my life.” He didn’t intend to put so much finality in his tone-- as if this was the end, a fluke to never be repeated, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way. He convinced himself that made it better. More mysterious, less dangerous, what the fuck ever. He opened his mouth again, stupidly, to say _thank you_ , but resisted the urge. He couldn’t end on a note that lame, he’d sounded cheesy enough already.

And Kyouya hadn’t pulled away, anyway, hadn’t responded at all. He could pretend that was an agreement.


End file.
